retain for the rest of his life.
Total bedlam followed the shots in the House chambers as over six hundred people tried to get through eight doors at the same time. Even those for whom emergency situations generally brought their controlled and directive nature to the surface, having demonstrated their leadership time and again in combat situations, found themselves caught up in their inability to affect a calming influence on what could now only be described as a congressional mob.
To make matters worse, the network cameras kept rolling, and several of the cameramen who thought their positions were relatively safe panned the crowd while the network anchors, far removed from the scene and any sense of danger, continued to demand coverage of the event. They pointed out to home viewers what they perceived to be cowardly actions on the part of some legislators who sought their own safety at the expense of their peers. Paul Spackman, reporting live to the San Francisco Bay area residents, characterized it as a physical manifestation of the morally bankrupt, stepping, pushing, and shoving over the genetically weak. It was a situation, Spackman added, that was normally concealed from the public through polite verbiage, designed to cover the hostilities that generally were perpetrated behind closed doors.
Colonel Pug Connor and Daniel Rawlings were, from their gallery vantage point, unable to move forward or upward toward the doors. Secret Service agents, seated near the First Lady and her family, had driven their protective charges down onto the floor between rows while other agents, located outside in the corridors, fought to escape the melee and perform their protective duties. On the floor of the House, three agents surrounded the now-dead assailant, guns drawn, surveying the chamber for prospective accomplices, while five other agents had immediately removed the lifeless form of President William Eastman. The dais was otherwise vacant following the hasty removal of Vice President Clarene Prescott.
After slowly working their way toward the upper exit, Rawlings and Connor entered the corridor outside the House chambers, where clusters of horrified and increasingly hysterical people were gathered. Secret Service agents and Capitol Hill police, guns drawn, were scurrying about, unsure whom to allow passage and whom to detain and, if necessary, whom to shoot. Years of professional training provided instinctive response, and eventually, with the removal of most attendees and the absence of further violence, order began to return.
Reaching the Rotunda in preparation to leave, Connor and Rawlings were stopped by three men, identifiable by their colored lapel pins as Secret Service agents.
“Excuse me, sir, may I see some identification?” one said to Connor.
Connor held both hands up, palms open to demonstrate his compliance. Pointing toward his suit coat, he reached slowly into his jacket pocket and displayed his wallet, nodding for Dan to do the same. The agent looked at the picture ID and up at Connor’s face, doing the same with Rawlings’ California legislative ID.
“Thank you, Colonel Connor. If you and Mr. Rawlings will please accompany us, we’ve been instructed by the vice president to provide security for you and to bring you to her present location.”
“Where is Vice President Prescott? Is she all right?”
“I’m sorry, Colonel. I can’t advise you regarding her location, but she is safe, and she is uninjured.”
“Fine. Lead the way,” Connor said, falling in behind one agent with the other two following Dan as they entered a hallway elevator.
Two minutes later, Connor and Rawlings found themselves in the inner office of the Speaker of the House, Frank Redman, and were brought face-to-face with Clarene Prescott, visibly distraught at the recent events, but in control of the situation.
“Colonel, it’s well they found you. I’ve been advised that the Secret Service feel that only the one perpetrator was involved.”
Prescott breathed deeply, holding her breath as she stretched her head and neck, seeking to relieve the tension.
“It was Senator Malcolm Turner,” she breathed out. “All we can figure is that he thought to stop the president from exposing him in the conspiracy. The Secret Service found a letter in his office, denouncing what he called the military invasion of California and calling upon all Californians to rally ’round the cause of secession.”
“Excuse me, Madam Vice President,” an agent said, stepping close to speak privately with her.
Rawlings and Connor watched as Prescott’s hand moved to cover her mouth. Her head was bowed, and she nodded slowly as she listened to the messenger whispering in her ear. With another sharp breath and a soul- wrenching exhale, Clarene Prescott turned to face the small assembly gathered in the Speaker’s office.
“I have just been informed that, as of 8:22 p.m., house physician, Allen Wingate, has declared President William Eastman dead.”
Prescott paused, lowering her head and trying to control her rapid breathing as members of the small gathering absorbed this news. Tears openly flowed throughout the room. Those who were old enough, remembered their location and feelings upon hearing of the death of President John F. Kennedy nearly fifty years earlier.
Dan Rawlings, not yet born when Kennedy had ended his presidency, found himself confused at his presence at such a momentous event, less than a week after his own brush with death. Words were not exchanged for several moments while Clarene Prescott stood silently in a corner of the room, several agents close at hand. The agent who had brought the pronouncement again whispered to Prescott, who wiped a tear from her eye and nodded.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been informed that the chief justice is on his way, and that it is necessary at this time. .” She trailed off, her voice breaking.
Speaker Redman stepped to her side and continued. “The chief justice will arrive momentarily to administer the oath of office to Vice President Prescott. I would appreciate it if all present would gather in my outer foyer, where a little more space is available.”
Dan stood quietly in the right center of the small gathering, now risen to about twenty-five people as word had circulated that an historical event was about to take place, causing several congressional members and staffers to seek attendance. The inclusion of Mrs. Ellen Eastman at the last moment-reminiscent of Jackie Kennedy standing beside Lyndon Johnson as he was sworn in on Air Force One in Dallas-added a poignant caption to the news photos of the ceremony, which instantly flashed around the world. The photo of Clarene Prescott hugging a tearful Ellen Eastman made the front page of a special edition of every major newspaper in the world.
It was over in moments as Chief Justice Harland Overton, in his twenty-fourth year on the Supreme Court, asked Clarene Prescott to raise her right arm to the square and to place her left hand on the Bible. With one brief look around the room, Chief Justice Overton held out the bible and began to speak.
“I, Clarene Elizabeth Prescott, do solemnly swear. .”
Despite her emotional turmoil at the events of the past thirty minutes, a strong, steady voice rang out, and Clarene Prescott stepped into history.
“I, Clarene Elizabeth Prescott, do solemnly swear. .”
Chapter 36
Oval Office, The White House
Washington, D.C.
October, 2012
President Clarene Prescott warmly welcomed Governor Walter Dewhirst into the Oval Office, quickly refurbished by the White House logistics people to include memorabilia of Prescott’s long and illustrious public service career. Much of her service had been in national level appointed positions-rather than state and locally elected office-in the service of other presidents, who themselves had sought the Oval Office from their first foray into politics.
